


A Suit of Armor in Which To Battle the World

by HSavinien



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: American Politics, Fashion & Couture, Gen, ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Languages, Museums, Nile Freeman-centric, POV Nile Freeman, Post-Canon, Racism, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HSavinien/pseuds/HSavinien
Summary: This is the picture: Nile Freeman, ex-Marine, dressed up fancy to attend a gala and steal (back) a child.
Relationships: Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Nile Freeman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	A Suit of Armor in Which To Battle the World

"Here," Joe said, passing over an ID and a handful of credit and membership cards. "Do you want company? Andy gets bored easily in stores and Nicky will pick the simplest, most practical garment every time, but I can offer an opinion."

"I guess so. I just need basics, right?" Nile fingered the cards. 

Joe shrugged. "You need to fit in at the gala until you can get through to the back room. Dress, shoes, a handbag, I assume. Probably some sort of jewelry."

Nile winced. "This is going to be so expensive."

"It's a set of tools for a job." Joe shrugged. "No different than buying ammo."

"Does your ammo usually cost thousands of dollars?"

"When we buy in bulk..."

Nile gave in and laughed. "Okay, fine, princess time it is. You'd better come along. I'm pretty sure models don't go clothes shopping alone."

"Excellent," Joe said, clapping his hands. “Bring your walking shoes.”

Shopping with an open ended budget along Madison and 5th Avenue was terrifying and exhilarating. She drifted toward the high end stuff she was used to seeing, then caught herself and deliberately started choosing the more simply, subtly labeled stores instead. Hermes, Louis Vuitton, Bottega Veneta, Prada. She didn't feel up to trying on dresses at Versace, but maybe she'd look at handbags there later. 

"I feel like it's a little plain," she said cautiously, a few hours later, staring at her reflection in the LV mirror, "But I really like it. The gold and silver bits are very art deco(1)."

Joe broke off the argument he was having with the shop assistant about the latest soccer scores ("Football, Nile!") and came to look her over. "No, no, it's good! The simplicity will bring attention to your lovely skin instead of cheap sparkles. How does it move?"

"It's a little stiff, but not too bad." She rolled her shoulders and took a final look at herself in sleeveless black leather, then went to change. "Right." She handed over a credit card, and the assistant wrapped the dress and handed it to Joe. 

He grinned at Nile's embarrassment. "I never knew I was going to take a part time job as a PA in my old age. So, then. Shoes."

"Um, Louboutin is a pretty high end brand?"

"You’re all right in high heels?"

"I do okay. If I get a good sized bag, I can swap out for sneakers."

"True. Lead on!"

She sighed over the ombre red and black skyscrapers, but settled on a lower heeled black and mesh pair(2) instead, in the interest of comfort. 

Versace was ridiculous and she nearly broke Joe's hand squeezing it when she saw the price on a  _ fannypack. _

"Look, Nile, these are a decent size," he said, redirecting her to some shoulder bags. 

"Yeah, that'll do,"she agreed, doing her best to sound bored instead of freaked out. They walked away with a black bag(3) and surprisingly little hyperventilating on her part.

"Do I really need jewelry? I don’t know if I feel up to Tiffany’s. I may puke if I see one more piece of luxury goods priced higher than six month’s rent."

"That or some very sleek gold and silver makeup.”

“Shit, makeup.”

“Or we can just get you gold eyeliner and look through our closest stash for something ‘antique’ enough to look fancy. I think Andy did some dressing up the last time we were in New York and she won’t mind.”

Nile chewed on the tip of her tongue. “Yeah, let’s try that. I’m pretty sure that if I spend more than nine thousand dollars in one day on something that’s not college, a car, or a house, my grandma’s going to come back to life just to be horrified at me.”

Joe bumped her shoulder with his own. “You know this isn’t just a treat. This is important to our job and to the life of that child. It’s a plus that you also get to dress up pretty and I’m glad to see you get a chance, but you wearing these things, it’s nothing to feel guilty over.”

“Even if Versace charging twelve hundred dollars for a fancy fannypack should definitely be a crime.”

“Even so,” he agreed.

“Okay.” Nile nodded to herself. “Okay. Let’s go raid Andy’s treasure chest- NOT a euphemism, shut up your entire face.”

Joe laughed at her anyway.

* * *

Their old stash was a little ways out of the city proper (though not a short drive) and into Jersey, an iron chute built into a piece of stonework behind what was now a water treatment plant. The tiny bit of green space around it was stuck between a road and a cracked and disintegrating tennis court.

“We need to get an historical marker for this or empty it,” Joe said, frowning at the sound barrier rearing up beside them. “There was a lot more open space here before.” 

He dug into a mess of cloth turned mostly to dust, past a rusting flintlock and a few animal carvings about the size of Nile’s hand, and pulled out a small wooden chest with a puzzle lock. After a moment of squinting remembrance, Joe popped it open. Inside, along with a frankly alarming number of lockets filled with curls and cameos of women (“Andy was...popular in the late 19th century.”), they found a pair of jet earrings(4). They were bigger than anything she’d seen Andy wear recently, but still in a stark style that Nile could see suiting her. Joe was pretty sure he remembered them from a ball celebrating the end of the Civil War.

After the drive back to their bolthole, and Joe’s concurrent introduction to the musical works of Angel Haze, she scarfed her dinner and dressed up with some detail help from Nicky’s steady hand on the eyeliner, then she used contouring to sharpen the appearance of her cheekbones and jawline into something nearly unrecognizable. Nile twisted her braids into a tall bun with some gold ribbon, checked herself in the mirror and called it good. She packed running shoes and some very small ceramic knives from the weapons stash into her new bag along with more usual emergency supplies.

The gala was being held at a private gallery and was the best excuse they’d found to get into the place, which crawled with both security guards and cameras linked directly into some cloud-based servers that Copley had been having palpitations over for days. Some kind of deal regarding press exclusivity meant that, for the evening, the video surveillance would be much reduced. The owner’s private rooms would still be watched, but every little bit helped. Their target was her adoptive son, taken from his mother six months ago at the southern US border and offered up for adoption by ICE instead of going to his aunt in Texas. The aunt had tried to crowdfund adoption fees, but it had taken too long; by the time she’d raised enough money, Churan had already been shipped to a white industrialist/art collector in New York. Nile didn’t know if she’d thought she was doing a good thing or not, but had mentally filed it under ‘probably creepy’ considering that the woman’s gallery focused on South American traditional art.

Either way, they were going to get Churan back to his family.

Andy dropped her at the entrance, looking sharp in a suit and hat that probably weren’t necessary to the limo driver disguise.

Nile rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and strode into the building, trying to glide like a model instead of a Marine in her sleek leather dress and the flowing black wrap Joe had dug out of the back of a closet.

Inside was a whirl of camera flashes and sparkly dresses and close-cut suits, though nothing could outshine the rainbow of artwork on the walls. Nile was getting pretty good at sliding out of pictures, but there was definitely going to be some clean-up work; there were just too many cameras at too many angles. She eventually found a corner next to a hammered-gold Panamanian breastplate and a drinks table and accepted some kind of fancy mineral water from the waitstaff. Nile scanned the layout carefully, working out the rotation of the security and the less visible corners that she could use.

Some white boy in a navy suit and expensive sneakers tried to introduce himself and she stared down her nose at him and asked what he wanted in Farsi, which made him back off, apologizing in English and badly-accented Spanish (which was not even close, c’mon dude). Nile admired the artwork - what she could see of it around the fancy clothing and mingled beautiful and rich. There were a lot of textiles, gorgeous molas and embroideries, with scattered pieces of stone sculpture and metalwork contrasting in their simple weight. Nile took a couple pictures with her phone, texting one of a little gold lizard tunjo(5) to Booker along with “ _ Mood. _ ” 

“ _??? _ ” he sent back.

She laughed for a second, then took pity and added, “ _ This looks like how I’m feeling right now. _ ”

“... _ Irritable and stiff? Also, some of the internet makes more sense now. _ ”

“ _ You’re welcome.” _

Nile stepped back into the flow of the shifting crowd, circulating and checking the time once in a while until she made it to the back of the main hall, then followed signs for the restrooms. She drifted along, eyes (mostly) on her phone until she was clear of the main area, watching for roving guards and active cameras.

Obviously this was a serious situation and she was focused on getting Churan out safely, but also it was kind of ridiculous that her life involved this level of super-spy heist nonsense. This was the sort of shit you saw in movies. Of course, she also regularly engaged in gunfights that she walked away from after getting shot repeatedly because Andy was Very Bad at remembering that she could only heal like a normal person now, so...Nile’s life was weird. She checked her bag, frowned and tsked, and headed more purposefully into the back halls. 

Nile knew where the restrooms were, obviously, but she turned as she came back here in ways that made it plausible that she could’ve missed the signs. She turned the last corner before the private apartments and ran into the first security guard. He wasn’t the tank she expected, built lean and tall instead, but his shoes were shit-kickers and he had a baton and a sidearm.

“Ah,” she said, waving at him. “Perdonami, dov'è il…” she paused to flutter her fingers by her temple in an attempt to jog her memory, “Bathroom? Room for toilette?”

“Back the other way,” he said, gesturing.

She stared at him, brow furrowed. “Eh…?”

He pointed at the hall behind himself. “Private. Privado?” He gestured behind her. “Bathroom.”

“Privado...private party?” she asked, perking up and drifting closer. “These word I know,” she added in her best Italian accent, which made Joe crack up every time, but seemed to work fine on people who hadn’t been around actual Italian speakers for several hundred years.

“No, no,” he said, exasperated, and reached for her arm, probably to turn her around. 

She slid forward, caught his elbow before he had a chance to grab her, stepped in like they were about to dance, and flipped him over her hip, ending up on her knees behind him with his throat jammed into the crook of her elbow. He let out a grunt as he went down, but didn’t have enough air to shout. She got one hand locked around her own bicep and the other around the back of his head and held on as he flailed, only managing to rake blunt fingernails across her arms.

“Scusi,” Nile gritted out, and squeezed until he went limp. 

“Okay,” she panted. She patted him down quickly, took his ID badge, and stashed his weapons in her bag. It was definitely time to change her shoes, though. Nile could feel tendons twanging as they healed up from twisting her ankle on that throw. She dragged the security guy into a storage closet that his badge opened, ziptied him, and sat to pull on her sneakers and take a second to tidy up. She scrubbed her arms and his fingernails clean with wet wipes and stashed the soiled ones back in her bag in a ziploc, then checked her hair before deciding she still looked passable. Dusting her butt off, she slung her bag on cross-body, and headed up the hall with the baton at her side. After the initial storage closet, Nile found a staff restroom, an extra-reinforced door that probably led to exhibit storage, and finally an anteroom that looked like it led into something more personal.

She used the badge on the lock there and sighed in relief when it flashed green. The other entry options were a lot noisier. Nile knelt and pushed the door open just far enough to scan the room. She froze. There was a bunch of fancy, uncomfortable looking furniture, a camera in a corner, a lamp casting pink shadows, and - small, but out of place - a shoelace trailing out from under the edge of the white leather sofa. Nile just barely avoided sucking in a worried breath.

With a final glance around for extra cameras and other dangers, she moved. She whipped a scarf through the door, the weight of the glass beads around its edges flaring it out until it wrapped around the camera pointed at the entry. Nile dashed for the sofa, knelt and peered underneath, reaching for whatever that lace was attached to. Instead of any of the tragedies her brain had reeled through, she got a handful of small, warm, kicking shoe and a startled squawk from its owner. She let go immediately.

“Churan?” she whispered, and added, “Lo siento. Cálmate. Soy un’amiga de tu Tía Sisa.”

“¿Promételo?”

“I promise,” she told him in Spanish, “¿You want to go see your aunt?”

A small, warm body squirmed out from under the sofa and threw itself at her, muttering fervent agreement into her shoulder. She clutched him reflexively. “¿Entiendes inglés?”

“Yes,” Churan grumbled in English, and switched back immediately. “But I don’t like it.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” No need to stress him out by making him communicate in a language he hated. She patted his back. “¿Do you need anything or do you want to go now?”

“I don’t need anything. ¡Let’s go!”

“Of course. Please follow me silently. ¿Do you think you can do that?”

He nodded vigorously, wrapped one hand around her bag strap, and clamped the other over his own mouth. 

* * *

Extraction was, unfortunately, out the front door. The back service entrances were heavily alarmed in both directions, presumably to prevent visitors trying to run off with the treasures. She walked them back toward the main hall, pulling out her wrap and draping it over her shoulder like a cloak, obscuring Churan. She paused as she entered, looked around as regally as she could manage and started drifting toward the door. Nile used the less-trafficked routes she’d scoped out earlier, pausing to admire a piece of art once in a while, moving slowly to try to allow Churan to keep up.

They were about halfway around the room when the background music faded out and a voice came over the PA system. She froze. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the expensive part of the evening!” A restrained titter ran through the audience. “Surrounded by these fascinating works of art, please turn your thoughts to the plight of the-” 

Nile stopped paying attention and slid into motion again. Good for whatever charity cleaned up on this, but she wasn’t here to listen to people be smug about donating a tiny fraction of a percent of their wealth to people they looked down on. 

Nile pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her bag and drifted toward the door, gesturing interrogatively with them at the security guard. She nodded Nile out, pointing around the corner of the building. Nile smiled at her, trying to look like she was concerned about a nicotine fix, not thinking about a small warm body vibrating behind her. She followed the directions, strolling down the sidewalk at a horribly slow pace with Churan trailing her.

The breeze picked up as she approached the corner of the building. Before Nile could do anything to stop it, her wrap flared out and up, revealing Churan to the (unfortunately) still-attentive guard. She was smart enough to figure out that something was wrong and shouted in alarm.

Nile swore, picked Churan up, and ran.

Churan wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder. Nile dashed around the corner and nearly plowed into the side of Andy’s car, screeching to a stop in time not to squash the kid. Andy gestured them in and Nile threw open the back door and piled them both inside, slamming it. 

“Go!” she yelled to the front seat and Andy pulled out. “I’m not sure how long it will take them to scramble a car and I’m not sure if the bouncer at the door was connected to her main security detail,” Nile panted from the floor of the limo, bracing one foot against the front seat and one against the door as they whipped in a sharp turn. Churan yelped and grabbed onto her again. As soon as the car straightened out, Nile got him into a seat and buckled in. He was a little too small to be without a booster, but it would have to do. “Está bien,” Nile murmured to him. “Está bien. Lo siento.”

“Estas seguro,” Andy added. She switched to French. “What’s the damage?”

“Cameras everywhere. Definitely some clean-up work, though the makeup will help. I don’t think any of them caught me with Churan. I left a security guard unconscious in a closet, but I don’t think anyone besides him, a guest who tried to hit on me, and the bouncer paid me any particular attention.” She thought about the white guy. “I think I remember the one guy’s name. I’ll send it to Copley and Booker, make sure he doesn’t put up any pics of me on his social media or something.”

Andy hummed. “Not too bad.” She peered at Churan in the rearview mirror while zipping around an SUV. Nile blanched and scrambled into her own seat to belt up. Andy switched back to Spanish and said, “We’ll get you back to your family soon. ¿Are you hungry?” 

“¿Arroz con plátanos?” Churan asked tentatively.

“Sure,” she said, gentler than usual. “Nile, you call back to the safehouse and let them know there’s a special request.”

Nile smiled, then grabbed the oh-shit handle, biting back a swear word as Andy cut across two lanes of traffic to merge onto the freeway. Churan yelped in alarm, then gave a startled giggle, but didn’t seem nearly as bothered by Andy’s driving as Nile was. Shaking her head, she braced her feet on the floor and texted Joe and Nicky to tell them what Churan wanted for dinner. Where they were going to get plantains at 10 pm, she didn’t know, but it wasn’t her problem to figure out. Nicky texted back a thumbs-up emoji.

“Arroz con plátanos and then a plane trip to your aunt Sisa,” she told Churan. He made a hiccupping sound and then burst into tears. 

* * *

He cried himself into exhaustion, clinging to her hand while she made comforting sounds and whimpered when Nile tried to take her hand back after he fell asleep. She let him hold onto it. Mopping his face dry with the tissues Andy tossed back to her, she did her best assessment, but there was no visible sign of anything beyond grief, stress, and tiredness. He’d have some measure of PTSD, but Booker had been working for weeks on finding appropriate therapists and channeling funding for their services, so they could focus their attention on the victims of the US’s current xenophobias. They’d make sure Sisa had the contact info.

When they got back to the safehouse, Joe knelt to help remove Churan’s belt and introduced himself, barely getting the words out before Churan latched onto him too. Nile gently removed her hand from his grasp, and Joe stood, cradling the boy and humming to him. They took him in and fed him, Nicky passing him a spoon and setting a bowl full of golden-brown fried plantains over rice in front of him as soon as he’d settled (in Joe’s lap, one hand still fisted in Joe’s shirt). 

Nicky wrapped Nile in a hug that was a comfort she needed after Churan’s stressed tears. “Good job, Nile. You want to change or have a bite? It will keep fine for a few minutes.”

“Change,” Nile said. He squished her gently and let her go. 

The dress was undamaged, but sweating and running and then sitting in the car had left her chafing. It took her a few moments to skin out of the dress and wipe it down with a damp rag, then she sponged herself off and cleaned her face of makeup. With her braids down and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, Nile rejoined everyone in the kitchen. Andy was on the phone in the corner, setting up details for Churan’s transport, Churan had fallen asleep again in Joe’s lap, and Joe and Nicky were eating slowly, talking in low voices. They waved her over the table for her own bowl of arroz con plátanos and together they savored the sweetness and warmth of a child’s comfort food in the quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. https://us.louisvuitton.com/eng-us/products/futuristic-biker-leather-dress-nvprod2410054v#1A8BDV  
> 2\. http://us.christianlouboutin.com/us_en/shop/women/galativi-3.html  
> 3\. https://www.versace.com/us/en-us/women/bags/shoulder-bags/medium-icon-shoulder-bag-k41ot/DBFG303-DV2T_K41OT.html  
> 4\. https://www.morninggloryjewelry.com/product/victorian-whitby-jet-earrings-hand-carved-diamond-shapes/  
> 5\. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muisca_art#/media/File:Muisca_Tunjo_Animal_-_Museo_del_Oro_-_Bogot%C3%A1.jpg 
> 
> Please let me know if any of the non-English language bits aren't comprehensible from context.


End file.
